Seeking Revelation
by SmokeGetsInYourEyes
Summary: "It's nice to meet you, then, no-name." whispered the older boy, with a blinding smile, so at odds with his previous frigidity, " My name is Harry. You're my new roommate, I believe." Then Harry was back in the shadows, his green eyes shut and body obscured completely. " I'm going to call you Twig, it means 'thin and made of wood'. Try to last a while."
1. Chapter 1

**1. **Sebastian glared down at the hunched over youth from his weightless perch on the rooftop. His eyes narrowed, watching the boys pale white hands softly stroke Her soft, ebony pelt as if the shivering, mewling pet was a fragile treasure. His shoulders, thin and wrapped delicately in a tattered grey shawl loomed protectively over his mewling feline, head also bowed over it's wet figure, taking the brunt of the force of the rain as sheets of thunderous sleet and icy water slammed into his quivering neck. He would not last long like that, staggering through the shadowed alleys in nothing but a pair of sodden grey rags and too large boots, and what Sebastian presumed to have been his cloak bundled around some stray. Already, the demon could pinpoint a quaking in the shoulders, and the distant, muffled hack of a violent cough, drowned out by the roar of rain slamming into cobblestones. The child, only a teenager, his fragile body thready and long with malnutrition and hunger made an admirable effort for several long, pointless seconds, his legs dredging into puddle after puddle, before toppling over into a sodden, heaving mound of grey, curled protectively the bundle that was the cat and the cloak.

Sebastian smirked his approval inwardly, cold gaze sliding over to what little of the cat was not obscured by the childs shuddering frame, before locking on the boys face. Slack, peasant-like features, numbed and white, with quivering blue lips and slitted green eyes. The eyes slid shut, and Sebastian hummed along with the weak, stuttering rhythm of the boys faltering breath. At the very least he mused, stepping lightly from his perch on the roof, toes skimming drenched tiles as he glided across it's length, the boy had used his own body to protect the precious feline from the growing puddle of rainwater, and was still sheltering it from the cold torrent. The world fazed out of focus for a mount as he leaped over several other obstructing buildings, before slipping into the alley, dark, heeled boots clicking sharply against the stones.

Sebastian stopped slightly over the boys quivering frame, watched it shift unconsciously away, before stoopng over. One clean, gloved hand wrapped gently around the kittens fluttering ribcage, the other smartly untangled the boys cold hands from the precious cats matted fur, and with a delicate tug the cat was wrenched free and upwards, where, straightened against the force of the rain, Sebastian tucked it into his inner vest.

" Thank you, sir." Sebastian said cordially, with a slight bow towards the quivering mass in front of his, " You have been most helpful, I'm sure that this little one is grateful." And with a cold, thankless smile, he shot off towards the mansion for teatime.

Far behind, haunted jade eyes shot open as still, lifeless ribs jerked wildly into motion, small tortured gasps rising like the muffled cries of a newborn through the gloom.

Harry sat up slowly, shivering hands cradling his thin, bruised ribs as his spine slowly cracked into place. The feeling of having just died weighed irrepressibly on him, a lingering shroud of terror and soreness that blotted out the rest of the world an almost friendly feeling- he had woken up like this many times before. Pushing himself up from some hard, unforgiving floor, his broken, whining bones still knitting themselves back to their original template; his first, seventeen year old body, tanned and covered in a corded wirework of slim muscles that he always lost, no matter how long he wandered. He would see the ground first, always, soil and blood and his own vomit pressed against the skin of his cheek. Then he would feel the heat, the cloak coiled against his regenerated belly, the scorching caress of the ring on his finger, the length of the Elder Wand from it's cradle in his palm.

Everything else would come afterwards, groaning and moaning and popping in the oddest of places as he tried- half asleep, darkness still dripping from his bleary vision- to shake of the cold numbness inside of him. The slight euphoria he always always RELUCTANTLY felt grip his heart when the first rush of color and light flooded his vision.

It was always worse when he woke up in the dark. He was always alone, in the light or the dark, but the night just made him think of the Other Side; as if he had never work up, had confined himself to that solitary blackness for the ternary he seemed to be cursed with.

He was alone this time too, be noted, somewhat absently as he raked his clawed fingers through soggy, matted locks, and felt a vague stirring of disturbance. It hadn't been that way before… before he had died. He had felt eyes on him, burning through some distance and watching amusedly as he had lurched forward with as much effort as he could have, starved as he had been for months and lighter than a pillow case of breadcrumbs, that small little stray, so like him, with gleaming green eyes and that annoyingly fluffy hair… Cat?

Harry's eyes shot open, as , with a yelp, he jumped to his feet, frantically casting his gaze around him to see if he had accidentally rolled over and crushed the poor thing. He could have smothered it with that ridiculous cloak he had wrapped it in- overkill much, Harry?- or pinned it in some pool of water, his light frame keeping it's struggling body under the surface until, until…!

There wasn't any small, bobbing corpse of flea-bitten feline though- just a fine cloud of mist and drizzle, swirling in the air like some sort of wet caress, and large, gleaming puddles of brown rainwater, and high, high above him… Oh how he loved the sky, Harry thought, eyes sliding shut blissfully as a soft ray of muted sunlight slid across his face, the quiet burn of a kiss. Oh gods he had missed this, the fresh feeling of having woken up from a long, inexistent sleep, the memory of the past few months just a drugged-up haze of pain and sleep and roaring, rain-conquered streets, and cats and those fancy leathery shoes that he seemed to see a lot in this World. Vaguely he realized that he should be moving from his hunched, blissful stillness, that he had been running for a while now- not just the usual I'm-immortal-and-lonely-and-everything-hurts-and-I-can't-stand-it running, but the nostalgic, bad-guys-chasing-you kind of running.

There. That did it; his eyes snapped open and a shuddering gasp was ripped from his lips.

" The manor!" he shrieked, and then winced at the sound of his voice, harsh and shredded as if his trace was still… re-building. His mind turned back to his previous quest, images of something cute and precious and vaguely painful flashing up, a bright childish smile and a mop of blonde hair, a towering vision of a dark, glittering mansion, cast softly in the light of a thousand lantern…an ancient crest…a faded, coffee-stained map marked with delicate, spiraling script…Phantomhive…

"Aw, FUCK it!" moaned Harry, pushing himself off the comfortably stony wall, his thin arms whipping out to whisk up the folded cloak and the Elder Wand (which would have followed him, but habit dies hard), and then set off, bolting quickly through the winding London alleyways, with only a barely muttered whisper of, "I'm late, I'm late. I'm late for a very important date!"

_"…Do you have a name?" asked the lanky, shadow-shrouded figure, He sat, hunched over , in the corner of the room, a single, gleaming green eye bulging from the ebony curves of the dark there, vision trained on a smaller, shaking child, a bald-headed child of twelve. The intruder lay on his back, tears and snot cascading down the sides of his face, eyes large and blank and bright blue irises dulled and quiet, the same medical color as his tattered shift._

_"Hey…" said the sitting boy, " Hey. Answer me."_

_The child flinched from his position, sprawled across the unforgiving cement, and large, horrified eyes spun over to pierce the shadows, head lolling over to one shoulder in obedience. He didn't answer._

_" I told you to answer me. " the green eye said softly, voice cold and disinterested, " I won't ask again. I don't have to listen to weaklings like you."_

_He laughed mirthlessly, chillingly, " I don't have to listen AT ALL."_

_The laughter petered off into silence, the shadows menace slowly growing as the other child did nothing but shake and whimper and stare into that one green eye, as if trying desperately to communicate something without words. A thin, pointed jaw worked uselessly against the cement, and a thin squeaking voice whooshed out in a reedy whistle, before wilting in the stifling quiet. It took several, timeless minutes, but then the boys tongue seemed to start flapping again._

_"…N-nah..Na name…" he grit out hoarsely, and suddenly, suddenly, there was a soft, white hand cupping his cheek, caressing bruised hollow cheeks and the slick, fat tracks of tears. A face, hovering above him, framed by spiky locks of black and set with glowing, emerald eyes twisted softly into a secretive and the boy, shocked into silence, body heaving and throat burning, could do nothing but blink as a chapped, cold pair of lips brushed against the sweaty skin of his forehead._

_" It's nice to meet you, then, no-name." whispered the older boy, with a blinding smile, so at odds with his previous frigidity, " My name is Harry. You're my new roommate, I believe."_

_Then Harry was back in the shadows, his green eyes shut and body obscured completely._

_" I'm going to call you Twig, it means 'thin and made of wood'. Try to last a while."_

Finny woke up with his features frozen in an agonizing stillness, his dream still burning behind his eyes. Washed out images of his elder brother, Harry echoes in the darkness. Harry hunched up in the corners like a lurking, malicious ghost, Harry, watching over his silent weeping with tender eyes and gentle, comforting hands, Harry hissing out grumpy insults and cocky remarks early in the morning, Harry being dragged, laughing and hysterical, tears streaming down his face as the scientist hooked their arms under his and wrenched him away from Finny's desperate, grasping hands. That mad, bitter laugh, free and breathless and wild….Harry's last words, obscured by madness and fever and ferocity, words which Finny could hear every night in his not-so-often nightmares.

Finny sniffled quietly, face crumpling into a mask of sadness as tears built in his tired eyes.

Harry who was his brother, who had rescued him by being there at the end of each day, who had been so MEAN as to steal his extra glass of milk, who had had a very charming nose that Finny had been envious of because it had been broken so many times, but had always healed straight, unlike Finny himself, Harry who had sometimes been unknowingly brutal in picking on him, but wa secretly a big softy…. Harry who had been dragged away, laughing hysterically in the face of death.

Harry who laid still and quiet and cold in the hard, unforgiving light of the operation table. Dead for two seconds in view, before the door had slammed shut and Finny had been taken away, silent and shocked, and buzzing with . Harry. Had.

Died.

Finny closed his eyes and went back to uneasy dreams which refused to feature the cute things in life, like food, and Mey Rin's funny glasses, and Master Ciel's many different canes, and the garden and…

Because nothing was alright when Harry was dead.

Harry bundled the useless cotton cloak tighter around his shoulders, shoving his feet forward once more into the bast of wild, country wind, struggling against it's overwhelming push. Green eyes narrowed against the onsetting cold, flickering up to notice the dim shapes of emerging stars before training once again on the distant horizon.

_Just wait Twig. I'll be there in a moment…_

"Goddamn, fuchsia eyed….smarmy bastard….thinks he can lock me out…MESSY HAIR.." muttered Harry, slumping against yet another wall, one hand rising to run, aggravated, through the tangled knots detailing his scalp. His back cracked for the tenth time since his last re-awakening, the muscles of his shoulders shuddering in pleasure as the knotted joints ground against each other. Merlin, he was sore, and tired- everything was swimming, the last couple of days spent trekking up through a winding, desolate road just a muddy blur of his own chaotic thoughts and the last snatches of violent weather. And then he got there.

To the place where Twig had been taken. To Phantomhive Manor, to where those two, childish, nostalgic blue eyes had been sheltered, and then that DAMN BUTLER wouldn't let him the fuck in! As if that stinking, repugnant demon, that blood-soaked hell spawn, had any say in what Harry could or could not do- as if slamming the door in Harry's grey, tired, scum-covered face was permissible, which it WASN'T. Harry growled softly under his breath, slapping the noisy, ranting voice in his head that stormed around his psych, fuming and breaking imagined china vases.

He hated himself like this, tired and desperate and weak, and so utterly affected by the mundane, repetitive world of humans. Hated when he got so tired of being tired that he managed to fool himself…that was all it really was, fooling himself, Harry realized. Carrying on this bitter farce of caring, and loving and hurting, and Morgana! How long would he continue to do this?

Forever?

Calloused hands turned, palms glaring up at his weary, blinking eyes, the lines so different and so familiar, scarred and rough and slightly long, the tapered digits bony and emancipated. A clunky ring of glossy wood, inset with a single, cracked black stone, wound around his ring finger, where his wedding ring could have been, no, HAD, been. many years ago. Forever. He thought drearily, clenching his fist around the burning artifact. And he would never forget that, as long as that silvery, gossamer cloak wound in ropes across his chest, and that long, knotted stave stuck in his back pocket-they wouldn't let him.

"Goddamn it! Let ME. IN!" roared Harry, body suddenly hurtling back around the corner he had turned, leather-clad feet splicing through the air as his vision narrowed reflexively to the point of impact. His feet brushed the door, then slammed into the smooth, engraved panels. The hinges screamed, and with a screeching whistle, the two doors were flung across the antechamber, clattering thunderously to the floor as Harry spun around onto the balls of his feet, landing lightly in a crouch.

Silence. A slight tingling buzz of adrenaline. His spine cracked once more, and this time the sensation was one of finality, entire body aligning in the way it was meant to, hovering over the floor in a predators crouch, hungry, and hunting. Footsteps exploded inward.

"Who, pray tell, do you think you are…" was the quiet, furious hiss, " Not only have you been pestering my butler and threatening my gardener, but you broke into private property , my MANOR, the PHANTOMHIVE manor-"

"I told!" interrupted the criminal, " I'm only here to see Finny! I know him, we were friends before he came here-"

Silence. Stillness. The blade pressed nonchalantly against his throat.


	2. Chapter 2: Deal

**Sorry for waiting so long, and for the badly written chapter- it's really just transitional. Didn't want to be written much. Next one'll be cooler and more fun :)**

**Thanks to:**

** (you definitely motivated me, thank you!), SashaPayne56 (you're too nice~!), hexagon, Ebru Gunduz Lestrange, williamsangel88, Guest, kiroigenaya(thank you for the criticism, I've never been good with endings, or middles…), A.V. Jackson, Esseraph, Mirthfull-Malady, Avengel Azrael (CONGRATULATIONS! LONGEST REVIEW! I TOTALLY LOVE YOU!), xXxOtaAkU-444xXx, CrystalBlues, **

**and xDarklightx, my first reviewer!**

**Thank you also everyone who favorited or followed! You are all Awesome. Totally.**

**DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN NUFFIN. **

…**ch2…..111111111**

Well. Fuck.

If being pinned somehow, inexplicably, to the floor in some awkward way that crushed his creaking ribs backwards, and weighted his knees downwards, his throat stilled in movement by that sensuous blade- wasn't enough, a single, gloved hand had snaked to the side of his head, where the loud sound of it's veins pumping thready jolts of fluid down and up and all around, blotted out almost all other sounds. The too-close face of his attacker looming over his own, blocked everything but a thin corona of light and gleaming marble, which framed the man-thing's hair like a halo.

Smirking, slitted, crimson iris' and inky swaths of black clothes encompassed everything else.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could barely decipher several shadowy slivers of figures, the few that had belatedy swarmed the room after his abrupt entrance. Judging by the cadence of their infrequent twitches and shifts- muscles of their feet sliding against marble via tough wooden soles in order to compensate for hushed but labored breadth and slowly relaxing tensed stances- one was a long-distance fighter who utilized something like guns, arrows? A woman too, by her shorter, hisses, and high-pitched gasps for breath, and the stilted rhythm of her footsteps that meant her shoes were heeled in a feminine manner.

The other had come from the other side- heavy, limping, smelling of smoke and burned food, meat, and with jerky movements. He wasn't as rigid a fighter as the woman, who probably had a history in a rigid art, martial or otherwise, that oiled her movements, if slightly. His footsteps were a soldiers, flexible but sturdy. The kind of steps one would use without thought, a sort of improvised tenseness and balance.

Neither of them were Twig- or Finny, as he had grudgingly accepted. It would suit him. Finny. More than the one Harry had given him- to be fair, he hadn't been completely lucid at the time.

There was a third body. The owner of that fierce, piping voice- a child. A CHILD. With clopping, confident and rushed footsteps, that, even invisible to his eye seemed to be seeped in an elegance, in rhythm if not in stride. The words uttered- a voice, more than he had gotten from the others- had been dripping with contempt, and that flippant fury, and the sheer irritation, but also that coldness, and MERLIN, if that creature was a child then Harry was gonna cry.

On the inside, at least.

The three would be easy to take out- or relatively so, once the drugs had completely left his system.

Usually they would be cleared completely from his body when he died…but he had passed from internal malfunctions, a bug in his throat, fluid in his lungs. Tempurature. Starvation. Infection. Not much to speak of in terms of plain damage, not much to be re-written, and though he hurt like fucking hell, that damned drug still lingered somewhere inside of him.

Like fog around his eyes and ears.

Which meant, fighting, or killing these people wouldn't- would NEVER be the right option. Not just because he would lose, or because he would die- cause he would- but because Twi-Finny would be sad. And mad. But still. he had to…he HAD TO.

He had to see Finny.

"I'm just here to see Finny." he said slowly, calmly, " I'm sorry about breaking in. I didn't mean to. I-"

"Wasn't thinking?" interrupted the child coldly. The voice dripped derision, and his slow footsteps drawing closer held the rhythm of a furious stalk- like an angry cat. "A moment of thoughtless passion? That does not make you blameless, does it, Mr. Criminal?"

He stopped close enough that Harry could make out the toes of his boots around the edges of his attackers arms ( and why couldn't he just shake the bloody man off- he wasn't HEAVY, just…there).

"Should I let you go? Turn a blind eye? To an unknown man who broke into my house, my home?" he paused deliberately, enjoying the way Harry's eyes darkened as the accusations piled up, "Tell me- would you put yourself in danger like that? Would you?"

No he wouldn't. He acted first- thought later. That was his nature, unchangeable, resolute, his vice and fault, and Harry knew. He knew that bursting in through the door had been just that- and so did the kid. The child could probably read the frustration on the tight lines of his face, as his silence held a measure of smugness.

He had really fucked up the first impressions, and with his mind drawn to unimportant details, like the cadences of the peoples footsteps, the bitter smell of the polish on the knife against his throat, and the funny muddy stain of the tip of the boys shoe; slow, also, and muddied by that drug…he really couldn't figure out a way to fix his fuck-up.

(( Come on Harry. Don't die. Don't kill. Fix this. Come on. For Twig. ))

And as usual, his mouth would just take over when his brain started letting up to much steam. "Whats your name?" The child took a surprised shift to his…no Harry's left. And he felt a flush of hope in his fingertips. "My name is Harry." he blathered on, "I'm…seventeen. I knew Finny when I was ten- he and I when to the same institution-"

The body beside him stiffened at that word. A rough hand slid down his neck to wrench him upwards by the scruff of his neck. He yelped, disoriented, to suddenly find himself contorted awkwardly so his face was tilted upwards, legs still pinned beneath that freakish butler, and neck twanging painfully at the entree angle and twist. He struggled to continue, knowing the move had only been so that the kid could see his face, not to shut him up.

"I…he was…my…brother. Please, I've been …looking for him for…weeks…" he grit out, trying to stick close to the truth ( he couldn't very well tell him that he had skipped around a couple of times, body flickering between past and present, enemy and alone).

The light of the chandelier above him glared around the dark silhouette of the child, cloaking the features in darkness. He just barely make out a blue arch of iris, and a smooth head of light, slicked hair, the other eye blotted out by an absolute black of an eyepatch. It was a struggle for his squinted eyes to make out anything else- but that expression of wickedness was unmistakeable.

"…please…" he said again, feeling the sick taste of the words, as well as his own fury build behind his words. He hated begging. Even when he didn't mean it- even when it was in a light-hearted situation such as this, where the biggest consequence was being killed, or being taken away from Finny, again. And Harry….Harry hated being killed.

"Please….he's family…"

There was still that cold, contemplative silence. A small white hand brushed against the skin of his cheek. The strain was bowing on his face then. Harry hoped the restrained violence wasn't, and held himself limper.

"…I won't take him anywhere…I just want to see him…"

" He's all I have left…I promise…."

"Please…"

If this didn't work, he promised himself cruelly, he was going to scalp the pretentious little bugger; beat him and flay him and stab him for all the awful AWFULL memories he was digging up. For all the cold, wet hands he dragged up from the forgotten forgotten shadows of his mind, hands that dragged up and down his shivering flanks, tracing bloody lines across his face…his phantoms…his ghosts…

"I am Ciel, the Earl of Phantomhive. Finnegan is my gardener- he has been employed here for…several years, now." His voice dropped to a murmur, " Maybe we can discuss this sometime…" And then the weight was off of him, bodies sliding against each other quickly, before gravity pulled his harshly down to the floor. He embraced the cold for just a moment, glad that the demon of a man was finally -FINALY- off of him. "Harry. It's…nice, to finally meet Finny's elder brother." Harry could feel the derisive grin from his place on the freezing marble,

" He's told us SO much about you."

Harry remembered himself just barely, mutely letting the blow land and the cold darkness swallow him up.

**2222222222222222**

"You knew." spat Harry, straining against the ropes that held him down (what was with the constraints, he had stopped struggling early on), " You KNEW who I was, but STILL din't let me see Finny." His anger was blinding now, a vague wave of red boiling and crashing down around everything in sight. The people in the room seemed unaffected by his tenseness and bloodlust, the boy- who looked nothing like a boy and more like some devilish, posh imp- pacing cockily across the floor, and that DAMNED bastard of a butler lounging smugly in some shadowy corner out of sight.

The child cast his a bored look, the smallest hint of a sneer curling at his lips, and said with a commanding voice, "I knew EVERYTHING," he stiffened, "- from the start, Harry." Blue eyes honed in on the soft stirring of discomfort that churned momentarily through Harry at those words, words which usually lead to death after death after death, and the child's pacing aborted, heavy footsteps bringing the earl closer to the thrussed up Harry, "….Does that disturb you? That I can say that?"

That dread welled up inside of Harry, all thoughts of violence fleeing in the face of a picture, suddenly very clear, the picture he now saw, of those two blue eyes KNOWING-

"...Or does it it disturb you that you were dead."

Harry's empty prayers turned to lead and fell heavily to the floor, shattering into a million, painful shards. Fractured green eyes shot up to meet dark cerulean. Silence.

"…Let me see Finny." he said softly, "Please let me see Finny."

There was desperation held back in his voice, thinly veiled fear, resignation, fury. His broken expression crumpled into something cold and sad. The situation was painted clearly before him- in the superior, looming gaze of the two humans...

But the Earl just shook his head, eyes never leaving Harry's. " No. I won't. I think you should understand that I cannot let a monster such as yourself near my staff."

Graceful, pink fingertips brushed along Harry's chin, lifting it so that his dark hair rolled off his forehead- another finger rising to trace the thin, lighting bolt scar, "- Someone like Finny, who likes to trust, might get…hurt."

His round nail bit into Harry's skin. A bead of blood sprang to the surface of his scar, scalding hot, like Harry's panic(- which he viewed through a hazy veil of frantic fear and despair-) ran down his face, blurring his vision pink and black, and pooling on his lower lip, irony and gross. He licked it, swallowed. Suddenly realized how thirsty he was. The Earl watched the blood with cold disgust, a flicker of unease shadowing his face when Harry didn't blink, allowing the blood to slide over his vision, choosing instead to gaze piercingly, pleadingly on the Earls eye.

"…If I told you what I was, would you let me see Finny?"

He hadn't does this for years. Hadn't opened up, hadn't let those words taint his tongue like bile- burning him. But…his conviction hadn't changed. The Earl knew, and gods did Harry hate that, he hated it more than the ugly ropes that they DARED presume could hold him, he hated it more than the smell of his blood, than the stagnant darkness of the cell,- but it didn't change Harry's need to see Finny.

If anything, he needed to MORE. He needed some sort of respite, something to make this whole fiasco fair, less depressing…

The Earl frowned cutely.

"If you told us what you were?" Harry nodded mutely. Then he lowered his gaze, carefully, the shadows dipping to clear his vision of color.

"Or you could kill me." There. The Earls eyes bulged slightly with surprise. Harry didn't even need to look. "I'll go without a fight if you let me see Finny. He doesn't even have to know. I just want to talk."

"…And you'd die, just to TALK to someone?" hissed the Earl indignantly. Harry raised his head, bemusement pushing away the darker of his emotions, and gazed in disbelief up at the child. He could see it in his face. The child stony, bitter face writ that he had never felt that urge, that determination, or regret, or guilt, that he would be fine with any price if he could just set things right. He had the premature face of one who lived for oneself. Harry shouldn't believe that about someone easily, but looking at the earl, he did. His smile grew- and it was cold, and full of pity, and jealousy.

((Harry and always loved to easy- and it had always always hurthurthurt him.))

"Yes." the raven haired man whispered, enjoying the flush on the boys face as he met his eyes, " I would do anything. I would kill you, and all the people around here if it would help." That wave of helplessness crashed over him, and his brief glimmer of superiority and sentimentality vanished into his previous gloom, " But it wouldn't. Not this time."

"…Why wouldn't it help?" came a deep voice, crawling from the shadows. The butler, with the weirdly silent body, and the messy hair- almost as messy as Harry's own.

" If you were some extraordinary creature, unable to be killed, powerful enough to destroy us all-" And here a note of hungry curiosity tempered his posh tones like the echo of a growl, "- why wouldn't you…?"

Harry shuddered as the butlers deep voice, and his subtly sibilant tones washed over him, ears easely picking out the small nuances of rustling that signaled him padding forward, closer to the back of Harry's chair. He had thought that already- that smarty bastard didn't need to point it out again, but Ciel was now looking at him with curiosity. He sighed wearily. " How about you untie me, " he groused weakly, grimacing at the odd fragility he felt from swinging between fearful and in control- " And then we can all sit around with some tea and CHAT."

The Earl huffed slightly, smothering a chuckle poorly in one gloved hand. "Your highness, " he murmured indulgently, then snapped his fingers, eyes glittering, " Sebastian, fetch us some tea, and another chair from the lounge- my feet hurt."

**3333333**

This was just ridiculous.

Did no one else think this was ridiculous? Harry did, because seconds later the kid was perched in some plush, velveteen throne, sipping from a small china cup, the cold lines of his face relaxing under it's reflected glow into something softer and more tired. And that BUTLER was fluttering around the pretentious little shi-Earl, gloved hands maneuvering a pair glistening silver trollies- which were really most of what he could see without glasses of magical aide- whisking out sugar and milk and pristine china plates like it was some circus act.

The light from the dim lamp somewhere behind Harry caught on the elegant artifacts, glimmering there and being caught, like fireflies on the ruby curve of the butlers eye, on his silken, white clothes and the glossy panes of the boys satin frock and polished bronze buckles. Some elitist light- to Harry, it seemed to ignore almost everything else, the floor , the walls, surrounding the two Englishmen by a deep, velvety black.

Then a small table was wheeled around- a fluttering, gold cloth arranged primly and crisply over it, and a bright, gaudy array of sweets seasoned with fruits, designed in a spiral- was placed in front of the little shit ((Harry snickered at that thought)). By the butler…With a flourish.

In a dungeon.

In a cell.

Across from a roped up, bleeding, trespasser.

...He felt the overwhelming desire to laugh.

"So! " he said instead, letting his head flop backwards tiredly in an attempt to loosen up his knotting muscles, and also dissuade his urge of hysteria, " Have you decided? Kill me or make me talk or whatever? Finny? Deal?" he smirked tiredly, careful not to hide the tortuous desperation in his eyes, the weakness in his quivering lips, "- Ring a bell?"

The boy eyed him over the rim of his cup, before his gaze flickered silently over to his butlers, and finally slid shut- as if settling firmly on a distasteful course of action. One gloved hand flapped lazily around in the air, " Don't worry about that, " he said cooly, and Harry grimaced at the nonchalance, "We'll make a decision. I want you to answer Sebastion's question."

Sebastian's question? -_"….why wouldn't you?…"_ -Harry groaned, " I didn't even get any of the tea!" he whined reflexively.

The Earl shot him an amused, but still frigid glare, " Of course not." he drawled, " I wouldn't want to spoil you, just in case your some avatar of Britain, and grow stronger with a steaming cup of Earl Grey." His eyes flahsed at Harry's startled laugh, and he continued primly, "Sebastians question, Harry."

He didn't grin, but the ugly knott of pain in his lower abdomen loosened."Oh," he said, clearing his throat, "Well, I figure, as drugged up as I am-" whoops, that just slipped out, too much truth, don't give more than what he needs Harry- "- I wouldn't do much for myself personally, and Finny would probably h-h-hate me…even if I did."

He shuddered at the cold chill of a memory creeping up his back- angry, tearful, cornflower blue eyes, welling with furious tears, snarled words, sung in a cute, ringing voice… The red that seemed to lurk just out of sight, his own madness, tied to and burning him. "Finny doesn't like it when I kill things he likes, and Finny wouldn't work for you if he didn't like you, so…" He frowned suddenly, as the thought struck him.

" How did that happen anyway? Hiring Finny? How did he get out of the-"

"-institution?" The Earl leaned forward with a soft sigh.

" I destroyed it." The boy said bluntly, looking as if the explanation, the fantastic things he was claiming were tedious and boring. " And I saved him. Only he survived."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"…Okay." said Harry.

" Thank you."

And he was sure his eyes looked weird. He could tell by the Earls odd expression. By his tense fingers, his wide eyes and furrowed brow. He could tell because he could feel it, that overwhelming tide of gratitude, that hot buzz of awe that was carried by sparks of his magic- the feeling of his relief, knowing that Finny hadn't had to pull himself out of that hell. The feeling of respect for that slip of the boy he STILL HATED, but had done something he, Harry, couldn't, but had wanted to. SO badly. He felt that warmth in his gaze, the gentleness bleeding into his eyes, the rekindling of love he felt when he saw some of the good things in people- though the Earl was not a good person.

The thing he did was seeped and tainted by blood and pain, and badness….

But it was good enough for Harry.

"Thank you." he murmured again. And suddenly he was looking back at the floor, furiously clenching his eyes shut to stop that warm prickling feeling from touching his eyes- cause tears would be uncool here. He shook his head a couple of times, sniffled softly, and coughed roughly, cringing at the wetness in his breath that spoke of tears, trying to get some of the dampness to cling to his hair instead of his eyelashes so he could maybe look back up and retain some measure of pri-

"Sebastion. Bring in Finny."

Harry's head shot up anyway. Wildness glinting off of viridian orbs as he scanned the Earls impassive, calculating face, letting his large, childish eye bore into his own. The butler grimaced, "Master…", but the boy waved him off with a harsh 'Now!', his rough affirmation ballooning the fragile hope inside of Harry. The butler spun elegantly on his heel, disappearing behind Harry and out the door, leaving him alone with the angry sound of his heartbeat, his salty, sticky eyelashes, and the Earls excellent poker face. Excellent, smirking, poker face.

"Harry, " he purred, " Lets make a deal…."

**" Only if you made them SCREAM….Phantomhive…"**

_FIN FOR NOW. Sorry for such a long wait- my updates are always spotty! This si unedited as always, if anyone wants to , just forrest me in a review or something, and I'll fix it when I can. THANK YOU ALL FOR SO MUCH SUPPORT. _

_Now, Harry is almost getting what he wants, but the Earl has never been a nice person, what will be his price?!_

_Please drop in a review- I love your thoughts, even if they're just a couple of words, or a stupid emoticon- I really rely on you!_


	3. Chapter 3: Whoops, Caught You

**THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO REVIEWED, FAVORITED OR FOLLOWED! It's very helpful- and I feel very loved… If anyone of you out there want to request a pairing, or request some event- this fic is sort of unplanned, all of mine are- just review or pm me, and i will seriously consider and work with it! Again thank you so much for reading Seeking Revelation :)**

**DISCLAIMER: DON'T OWN NUFFIN. STILL WORKING ON INKING.**

**11111111111**

_The knife drew up in a soft arch, blood slithering down it's sides and falling, the muted murmur of it's fall abnormally loud beside his low gasps for air. A pristine, gloved hand swiped the red fluid from the metal, as if cleaning it, but thin streaks of pink and rusted black remained, blotting out the reflection of his pale, pain-wracked face. A single, slitted green eye stared down at him ((his own, his mothers)), clouded with agony and confusion._

_"Again, Master?" questioned a low, rumbling voice. There was no voiced affirmative, except the icy metal, digging once more into the flesh of his abdomen. He jerked at the prickling sensation, the sting as the metal dragged lightly up his ribs, tracing the heaving bones, slicing effortlessly through the wings of his tattered shirt. It reached the patch of flesh above his heart, and hovered there , hesitantly, dancing over the unmarred strip of skin- and Harry felt his breath quicken in fear. He threw his head back, squirming lightly to get away from the lazy circles designed across his chest, mumbled protests falling like stones from his lips._

_"No-no..no.." he muttered, eyes rolling, unable to focus on anything but the spinning, blurry ceiling, the slight sting of agony as the blade bit deeper into the muscle around his nipple. He yelled feebly as the knife jerked, blinded momentarily by sparks of pain as his own rushed breath pushed the knife deeper…deeper._

_"Get on with it, Sebastian." _

_The voice came from far away, from underwater, low and drizzly, and so, so unimportant. He shouldn't be listening to the voices- the knife, the knife, it was a sensation he had felt many times before, the feeling of solid steel, RIPPING through him, gouging him out, scraping muscles from bones. Snapping tendons; spooning out pools and streams of heatheatheat and bloodmyblood._

_But the voices were important too. Ignore the pain. No..ignore the voices Harry, Hermione'd freak if she heard you talking back. Merlins knows she's still convinced you fell off the deep end. Only SNIVELING LiTtLe UnGrAtEfUlL FREAKS have voices in your their heads- get away, Potters gone mad, get away RUN DON'T LOOK IN IT'S EYES NoRemusJohnRemusNatalieDon'tFallSiriusDumbledore CATCHTHESNITCH IT'S RIGHT. IN. FRONT. OF YOU._

_The black was sliding across everything. It was hungry- and it wanted to eat him._

_And he was tired. Why wasn't he allowed to rest? He wanted to rest…_

_He just wanted to rest…_

_Twig…Finny…_

**22222222**

Harry woke, for once, not alone. There were small, warm hands raising buzzing lines against his chilled flanks, fingers wriggling through holes in his clothes, worming into pockets and investigating their emptiness. A quiet voice, close to his ear grumbled irritatedly in time with his hitched breaths as his fresh, over-sensitive skin was prodded roughly. Tickling strands of hair slithered into his nose, silky and perfumed, just as his lungs jerked awake with a heavy contraction, the gaping feeling in his chest wrenching his mouth open with a sudden urge to breathbreathbreath. His body seized as life flared inside of him, flooding his veins with air, heat stealing the chill from his frozen fingertips. The slim body sliding over his and the searching hands quickly retreated as his chest heaved again with breath.

Like emerging from beneath a deep, heavy body of water, the darkness slid off of his vision in droplets, leaving the room before him gleaming grey and clean from between stripes of his crusted eyelashes. He coughed, throat tender, but knitting together quickly- had he been strangled?- and tried blinking residual veils of stormy magic from his buzzing corneas.

((He could see it still, the void where HE stopped existing for a while, so not like this world of color and texture and distant wooden walls))

"Good morning." Harry felt his brows knit together with confusion, the voice still sounding muffled and indistinct. The dulcet, but slightly high-pitched tones didn't seem familiar, but a ghost of deja-vu wriggled somewhere beneath his sleepy foggy just-now-not-dead brain. A figure, bleary, and decorated with many splotches of grey and indigo blocked the light.

Idly, he struggled against the last strains of drug in his system.

A memory floated up without prompting.

_"I have one deal for you, Harry…" the child said softly, retying the ropes that had bound his chest to the back of the chair instead to hiss forearms, folding them behind his back with deft and quick fingers. He crouched slowly to Harry's feet, a look of distaste on his face, and did the same with his feet, binding them separately to the legs of the chair. Harry let him, knowing that he had little to nothing to fear…he had to play along…_he was human_..._

_"You see- I can't trust you to tell us what you are. I don't even know if you know yourself."_

_Hit the nail of the head. Did what Harry was even have a name beyond the "Master", supposedly, of Death?_

...He was human…

_"I also can't trust you to die, and stay dead." He flinched, beating down a small spark of panic as his forearms refused to jerk to his side, " So instead, I'll just have to ….test, what you can do."_

_"Finny is waiting outside, sir. I moved his bed with him." The butler slid into the room, and the fear that Harry had had in him since the weird-ass smarmy git of a Butler had pinned him tot he floor of the anteroom, burst into his eyes at the sight of the simple, sharp, carving knife in his hand._

_"I assume I don't need to make this an order, Sebastian?" The butler smirked, shaking his head, and Harry forced his eyes shut to hide his boiling fury._

_"Not at all, sir." he purred._

_"Harry?" questioned the Earl, voice light and innocent, " You don't mind do you- the terms of our deal?"_

_It was all he could do to just nod him head._

…human…!

_All he knew after that was pain._

His eyes flew open, narrowing immediately on the figure looming over him.

A round, porcelain face, inset with sharp features and single, large, cerulean eye stared down at him, strands of light, softly mussed hair framing his severe expression like a limp halo of gloom. The Earl. A burning like hatred flared inside of him, and this time he did not stop his expression from twisting into something feral, his inhibitions wavering as the drug prodded at the forefront of his mind, magic fizzing just beneath his skin…

"Good morning- **Phantomhive**." he spat, brutally pushing past the weakness in his throat, fisting his hand in the…sheets, to stop himself from going for that pale column of throat that mortal DARED to flaunt before him. Above him boy sighed a long-suffering sigh at the crass gesture ((Harry might've attempted something rude with his hand)), but elegantly retreated from the bedside-…

...

…Bedside?

The nasty, hissing little voices in his head which muttered ugly, angry things about the things Harry could do with a skinned and flayed Earl, fizzled into silence. A silence filled with wonder. Subtly flicking his gaze down to his fisted hands, feeling horror dawn on his face as he found himself staring at an elegant sea of of delicate silk and embroidered duvet covers, a vast expanse of died and woven cloth swaddled around his tinglingly numb legs.

If he didn't have a relatively firm clamp on his mind at the moment, he would have certainly gaped.

Bloody satin, striped with royal purple designs.

Vines and ghostly, nymphodic faces detailed, and gazing up at him through spirals of gleaming, golden embroidery.

He could pick out the elegant tableu's lining the foot of the duvet cover: the moon in silver sticthes, the sun, ruby and golden, the stars, pinpricks of rainbow threads. The grimy stains of dirt where his feet, poking out and tinged with blue, rubbed against the soft hem.

In particular the ugly, gaping holes in the crimson satin, detailing the places where his fingers had unknowingly dug into. The finery was ridiculously lavish, and as feeling began working it's way steadily down his legs, he could actually make out the soft, liquid feeling of silk shifting around the feverish skin of his seventeen-year-old knees…

"Merlin…" he breathed, anger forgotten as his gaze flickered over the bedspread, dancing between that and the rest of the room, which was similarly posh and glittery. He hadn't noticed before, but the light from a window he couldn't see moved beside him, a steady grey mote swirling with dust, small stripes of it's girth colliding with and gleaming off of the many polished surfaces dotting the room; the bedposts, the waxen floor, the candelabras , door hinges, doorknobs, the draperies metallic, golden tassels. The room was lit by constellations of such intricate surfaces.

Beside him, he heard a derisive snort, but couldn't bother shooting the irritating child another glare -though he did hate the kid, feelings of gratitude aside- it had been so long since he had slept in a bed of any respectable sort. Or in any place half as gorgeous as this- as gaudy and rich and sparkling.

He could vaguely remember countless, monotonous, cold nights, his rags wrapped nervously round his arms to hid the long gashes, renting suspiciousy moldy and dingy old motel rooms, or sheds, or justplunking down in some abandoned house on a spoiled mattress.

But this- this was almost _wizard._

((-His hands shook as they admired the Gryffindor regalia. _Home…-))_

_"_We moved you, for your meeting with my Gardener, " interrupted the Earl, breaking Harry out of his slight trance. He sounded bored. "The story is that we found you in an alley in London. Sebastian brought you back after rescuing you from a group of …muggers." The way he said the word, as if it something as plebeian as 'rat-filth' or 'taxes'.

Harry stared at the boy, incredulous. "Are you serious?" he snorted disbelievingly, eyes lit with a quiet amusement, which obviously irked the short Earl, " A _mugging_? You summarized torture with a _mugging_? Seriously?"

The one-eyed boy shot him a look, obviously unamused, but forged on-

((Not even Harry thought the situation was that funny, but his mind was having trouble moving on from the stripes of reflected golden light strung up in front of him))

- his posture attempting to convey a sort of gravity Harry couldn't pick up on around his own tired, drained body. " You offered me your death Harry- and with it your life."- He stiffened, that ugly, resentful feeling he seemed to always feel around the silly child, rearing it's head.

The boy met his blazing gaze with smug, lidded eyes, lit with their own authoritative fire. Challenging him, relishing in his contained fury, his reluctant compliance as he made no move to stop the rest of his words besides a little grunt of distaste.

((He could see it. The next insignificant grain of his monotonous eternity- being dictated by this foul, _weak_ little _human_. By his words he thought were significant- as if his life meant anything more than a way for Harry to connect with his Twi-Finny…))

"I have made a decision, about what to do with it." he intoned grandly, his single eyes alight with triumph- " You will work for me."

**AND because I'm mean, a cliffy. Sorry- short chapter, hopefully my muse will move on from the haikus to something a bit more substantial…but right now, I just want to get the set-up sort of…set up. Please review- I really REALLY love them! Even if you don't though- thank you for reading! My view count goes up anyhow :)**

…**.gah. Just two scenes…this is gunna kill me. Feel free to flame…I feel super guilty...**


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